


Peaches & Strawberries

by rilakumabear



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Racism, internalised racism/homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 20:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilakumabear/pseuds/rilakumabear
Summary: A small, sleepy town in Northern Italy in the late 80s, and the swell of a long summer that's about to begin.Eighteen year old Max has eight weeks left in this town before he leaves to study someplace else. He's determined to spend it swimming, and reading, and writing music, but he can't quite stay away from Jung Yunho, the twenty two year old Korean student his father hires as a summer assistant.Call Me By Your Name AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ermergerddd I'm writing fic again, it's an actual miracle. I'm terrible with deadlines so I won't make any promises on when I can update but enjoy I guess? \o/
> 
> you can find me @rilakumbear on tumblr and twitter
> 
> comments and kudos are love <3

Motes of fine dust swirl in the afternoon sun, and Max watches as they lazily drift down onto the pages of his book. He stares at them for a while, the curls of grey dust blurring against the faded black ink of the printed words, and then he huffs a breath and blows them away, refocusing his eyes again.

Outside his window, there’s a sound of a car crunching over the gravel, and sweet, welcoming voices as his parents greet their summer guest.

“Look, he’s here!” Alessia cries. She’s leaning out over the wooden windowsill, the dried cracked paint splintering under her palms. “Hey! Over here! Hi!”

Max rolls his eyes. “Stop encouraging this,” he says, over the sounds of whoever their guest is, shouting an enthusiastic greeting to his friend.

“He’s different from the other ones,” She turns to him with a twinkle in her eye. “You don’t wanna see?”

“No,” Max scowls, tossing his book aside. It lands with a dull thud in the middle of the floor. “It’s bad enough that he’ll be living in my home all summer, but I have to give him my own fucking bedroom.”

“He seems pretty nice so far,” Alessia shrugs. Max rolls his eyes. As if she could judge the guest’s character from a few seconds glimpse on the second floor. “Maybe it won’t be so bad this time.”

“It’s always bad,” Max shoots back. He gathers up the last of his belongings and gazes wistfully around his room, soon to be guest room, for the next eight weeks.

“You’ll barely see him,” Alessia says, but she helps him carry a stack of books to the room next door anyway.

Max scowls again, but he supposes this is true. He’s eighteen now, and this was his last summer before studying at a university somewhere he hadn’t quite decided yet. He wasn’t going to waste it babysitting one of his father’s students again.

They stomp down the stairs to announce their arrival. The guest stands in the hallway in front of the front door, his back turned towards them. He’s tall, but not quite as tall as Max. His sun-bleached, soft brown hair is on the longer side, the strands tickling at the nape of his neck. Max’s father catches sight of him and waves him over.

“Max, I’d like you to meet our summer assistant. He’s a university student who’s travelled a long way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Max smiles automatically and sticks out a hand.

The guest turns.

Max stares, and forgets to breathe.

A small, tanned face with crinkled eyes, a tall nose, and red-bitten lips with a decidedly wide pout. His brown eyes are glinting in the sunlight, and, inexplicably, Max thinks he’s the kindest man he’s ever met.

“This is Yunho Jung,” Max’s father says. He stumbles over the name a little. “I’m sorry, did I pronounce that correctly? I haven’t spoken Korean in quite some time.”

“Jung Yun- _ho_ ,” The guest corrects lightly. “But that was great!”

His English is heavily accented, and Max winces. His hand is still outstretched, and Yunho gazes at it enquiringly.

“In Korea, we bow,” Yunho explains cheerfully. His demonstrates, and Max swallows hard at the sight of his upturned face.

“Well, you’re in Italy now,” Max snaps. He snatches back his hand, ignoring his mother’s soft admonishing. His father clears his throat warningly, and Alessia shifts, smile faltering. Yunho straightens slowly, his eyes never leaving Max’s face.

“I’m Alessia,” she says shyly. Max suddenly wants to kiss her. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” Yunho turns towards her and they stumble over their introductions, neither speaking English very well. He’s used to Alessia’s soft accent, but Yunho’s is grating.

“May I take your bags to your room?” Max interrupts.

“That’s a great idea,” his father says, seemingly relieved that his son was behaving once more. “Why don’t you show up upstairs?”

“Alessia, why don’t you help me set the table for lunch,” his mother says, ushering her away.

Max glares, but he picks up the heavy bags and lugs them up, pointedly thumping them against the steps. Yunho doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t mention it at all.

Instead, he loudly admires the large sprawling house, exclaiming at the paintings and framed photos.

“Is this you?” Yunho coos at a photo of Max as a baby: wide dark eyes, chubby cheeks, and a mop of hair that curled around his face.

“Yeah,” Max utters, embarrassed. “Here’s your room,” he announces instead, almost shoving Yunho down the hallway. “Well, it used to be my room, but you’re here so you get it instead. I’ve got the cupboard next door. I mean. Bedroom.” He coughs. “Anyway. We still have to share the bathroom in between. But both doors have locks. And anyway, I’ll always knock before I enter so you don’t have to worry.”

He takes a sudden breath, and realises he’s been talking very fast. Yunho is staring at him, half fascinated, half amused. Max wonders if Yunho had even understood him fully.

“Thank you, Max,” the other man says instead. He enunciates carefully, as if actively trying to minimise his accent.

“You’re welcome,” Max says. He places Yunho’s luggage to the floor, a little more carefully than he had dragged them upstairs. “Uh. I’ll see you at lunch then?”

“This is your room?” Yunho asks instead. He gazes around, and Max suddenly feels very self-conscious of the posters, books, and music sheets piled haphazardly in the corner when his parents had insisted he tidy the place before Yunho arrived.

“Yeah,” Max hovers by the door, unsure what to say.

Yunho grins at him, kicking off his shoes. He plops down onto the bed and wiggles his toes. “I’m not used to wearing shoes in my bedroom.”

 _My_ bedroom, Max thinks, annoyed. But Yunho throws himself backwards against the pillows and settles comfortably against it.

“Please tell your parents I think I’ll miss lunch,” Yunho yawns, flinging an arm over his eyes. “I’m quite…ah… what’s the phrase..”

“Jet lagged?” Max asks before he can help himself.

“Tired,” Yunho nods, eyes fluttering closed. Max pauses, waiting for more messages to deliver, but the other man is already snoring.

He’s tempted to slam the door, but instead he backs out of the room. His heart is pounding, and he’s not sure why.

His parents are already eating when he joins them outside on the patio, overlooking the gardens and their peach orchard.

His mother pulls a cigarette from her red-painted lips, and blows the smoke away from him as he leans in to kiss her cheek.

“Where’s Alessia?”

“She went to pick up her sister from the bus station,” his father says over the top of a worn out textbook. “She said she’ll come by tomorrow, though.”

“Oh.”

“Where’s Yunho?”

Max shrugs. “Said he was tired. He’s sleeping.”

“Mm,” his mother tuts. “It’s a long way from Korea.”

Max picks up a fork and twirls it in his fingers for a moment. His parents wait, saying nothing.

“You never told me he’s from Korea,” Max says finally. He stabs into a hard-boiled egg.

“Does it matter?” His father replies calmly. “You’ve never asked where any of my previous summer assistants come from before.”

“We’re Korean ourselves,” his mother says softly. “It’ll be nice to have him here.”

Max wonders if Yunho knows how to eat with a fork instead of those stick things. “I don’t know, it just seemed weird. Normally, we’re the only different ones here.”

He pretends not to notice as his parents exchange glances.

“It’ll be good for us all to practice our Korean, hm?” His father says finally. Max wants to say that perhaps Yunho should practice his Italian or English, but bites his tongue.

“Sure,” he says instead.

They settle into a comfortable silence, the afternoon sun warming the stone terrace beneath their bare feet, the faint sweet aroma of ripening peaches; the last memories of Max’s last summer here.


	2. Chapter 2

Alessia doesn’t come the next day.

She calls in the early morning and tells Max about her sick grandmother. “I’m sorry. Mum and dad are working and you know Giulia’s too little to look after her properly.”

“It’s okay,” Max tells her, because it really is. Still, he can’t help but grimace when he hangs us, because he knows what will happen next.

Yunho stares at their breakfast spread as if he doesn’t quite know what to do. Well, that was probably true.

“What do you eat for breakfast in Korea?” Max asks, too curious to be annoyed.

Yunho brightens marginally. “Rice! And meat dishes, and soup…” he drifts off wistfully, then stares back at the fruit platters, coffee, and eggs. “But this looks delicious too.”

“Since Alessia won’t be coming over today,” Max’s father starts, far too casually. “Max, why don’t you show Yunho the town? You can give him a tour.”

“There’s nothing to see,” Max replies. He grabs a peach and takes a huge bite, the sweet juice bursting from under the skin and dribbling down his chin.

“I’d love to go,” Yunho says carefully. His gaze has turned to the drips of peach juice falling from Max’s chin, and Max suddenly feels self-conscious again; wiping his mouth gracelessly.

“I thought about setting up and Italian bank account,” Yunho continues. “Plus I need to visit the post office.”

“Well, Max will be delighted to show you around,” Max’s father says brightly. “Won’t you, son?”

Max scowls and shrugs as an answer instead. He doesn’t want to be scolded by his parents but there’s no way he’s going to let Yunho know he’s _happy_ about being volunteered to babysit him.

Yunho shifts uncomfortably. “Mr Shim, I’ll be alright alone if Max is too busy-”

Mr Shim waves him off. “Please, call me Dongsik. There’s no need for formalities here. And Max will join you, of course.”

It’s clear that it’s more of an order for his son, and Max scowls. His mother simply kicks him lightly under the table.

*

The cycle into the town centre isn’t too bad, because at least they were both too busy pedalling to be making any small talk. But now, with the bikes chained to a fence, Max scuffs his shoes against the warm cobblestones and wonders what to say.

“It’s beautiful here,” Yunho smiles. “I wish I had a camera.”

Max shrugs. “My dad has one. Maybe you can borrow it.”

“That’d be great,” Yunho replies sincerely, and the conversation grinds to an awkward halt.

They walk around aimlessly for a moment. Max should be talking about the streets here, and introducing some cafes or bookshops that they could browse around in, but instead he’s still sulking and ignoring Yunho, who’s politely still following him around.

A giggle near them breaks out, and instinctively Max turns towards it.

Three schoolchildren, spending their summer break playing in the fountain in the middle of the old square. When they see Max looking, they giggle again and whisper to each other.

A painful, familiar, burn of embarrassment grows. Max feels his face grow hot and he turns away, but not before he catches sight of the children pull the corners of their eyes back at him, laughing loudly this time, delighted at his miserable reaction.

A firm hand wraps itself around his arm, and Max gives a start.

“Max,” Yunho says gently. “I need to go to the bank.”

Max nods, shaking himself free. He hates it sometimes, this tiny town and the stupid people, he hates the way Yunho’s English sounds like claws down a blackboard, he hates those stupid children and the way they laugh so freely at him when they’re just bored, he hates himself and his dark hair and how people laugh at his eyes for being small which weren’t even small, he hates _everything_ and-

“It’s this way,” he says eventually. Yunho nods, and they leave the town square.

*

The sun has long set beyond the horizon when there’s a knock on his door. Resigned, Max gets up from bed and opens the door to his parent’s worried faces. In his mother’s hands is a wooden tray laden with food he had missed from dinner.

After Yunho was finished running errands in town earlier, they had walked in silence back to their bikes, and cycled straight back home, away from prying eyes and cruel words. Yunho has tried to talk to him then, but Max just threw his bike down and went straight to the room his was occupying over summer without another word.

 “Thanks,” he mutters, as his father wraps him in a warm embrace whilst his mother places the tray down on his bedside table.

“My son,” Dongshik says soothingly. “Tell us what happened.”

“I’m fine,” Max insists dully. There’s no other sound but the crickets outside, and the running water next door- Yunho must be bathing.

“Talk to us,” his mother says gently. “We’re here for you, you know that right?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Max repeats, a little louder. He pretends not to notice as his parents exchange a worried glance.

“You didn’t eat,” his mother says finally. “Leave the tray in the kitchen when you’re done, alright?”

Max nods and rolls over in bed, facing the wall. He hears his father murmur, “Best leave him be, Min-Jun. He needs some space.”

They close the door quietly behind them, and Max rolls onto his back again and stares at the ceiling. He barely has time to collect his thoughts when another knock interrupts him. He sits up with a sigh when it occurs to him the knock had come from the bathroom between his room and-

Yunho.

Cautiously, Max opens the door.

Yunho smiles at him cheerfully, towel draped around his neck and down over his naked torso. He’s only wearing a pair of bright green boxers and some flip flips he had picked up in the market earlier. His shirt is still bunched up in his hand. Water droplets run from his still-damp hair and trickle into the crevices of his collarbone, his chest…

“Uh,” Max says. Brilliant. Fantastic conversation starter, Max thinks. “Did you need something?”

Yunho shrugs and enters Max’s room without any further invitation. “I smell food.”

“Yeah, my parents bought it up ‘cause I missed dinner,” Max isn’t really sure why’re his explaining. His words trail off, staring in dumbfounded disbelief as Yunho locates the tray and plops down onto his mattress, grabbing a strawberry.

“If you’re still hungry, Maria would have left some food in the pantry,” Max frowns. “She’s our caretaker.”

“This is fine,” Yunho grins, and pops the berry in his mouth.

Max stares as his throat bobs as he swallows. He suddenly realises he’s still holding the bathroom door open, and shuts it with a loud click.

Well. Not it’s even more awkward. And really, he shouldn’t be the one feeling uncomfortable, after Yunho was the one who barged into his room and started eating his food on his mattress like he belonged there-

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Max says.

“You should eat,” Yunho pats the spot on the mattress next to him. “Let’s have a midnight feast.”

“It’s only 9pm,” Max mutters, but he warily lowers himself on the other end of the bed and picks up a plate of pasta. It’s still warm; olive oil trickling down from the crevices of the fusilli. Sun dried tomatoes and pesto cover the capellini pasta, with pieces of pan-fried pancetta and shrimp poking out, and Max feels his mouth water. Maybe not the most traditional dish, but Maria had cooked for him since he was a boy, and knew exactly how he liked his food.

“It looks like noodles,” Yunho says. “We have lots of that in Korea.”

“I thought you eat rice?” Max says, popping a cherry tomato in his mouth. It bursts under his teeth, a sweet pulp he swallows down in haste.

“We eat lots of different food in Korea,” Yunho laughs, not unkindly. “I could introduce you to them one day.”

Max shrugs, grateful for the food keeping him busy. “Don’t think that’s ever going to happen. I don’t speak Korean. I’ve never been there,” he admits.

Yunho sits up a little. “But you are Korean?”

“Yeah,” Max tries to sound casual. “Well, mostly. My mum is half Italian-American and half Korean. She was born in Korea then moved here when she was 16, I think. Dad’s Korean but adopted. He’s tried learning a bit of Korean but he’s basically Italian on the inside.”

“I see,” Yunho says thoughtfully. His brows are furrowed, and Max wonders if he understood that fully. Yunho’s English wasn’t very fluent, after all. “What about you?”

Max swallows the last of his pasta. “What about me?”

“Are you Italian on the inside too?”

Yunho’s face is full of curiosity, and Max shifts, feeling uncomfortable. This topic was sensitive, that much was clear, but Yunho doesn’t seem to be malicious or nosey. He just seems… to want to know Max more.

“I don’t know what I am,” Max says finally. He grabs a strawberry from the tray and takes a bite. He suddenly can’t stand the way Yunho is looking at him, a blend of sadness and kindness.

“Why are you studying in Italy?” He asks instead. He was tired of talking about himself.

Yunho fiddles with the edge of the blanket thoughtfully. “I guess it was time to see the rest of the world,” he says carefully. It sounds like a practiced answer, but Max doesn’t push it further.

And so they eat in a companiable silence, occasionally talking about random bits and pieces as the thought occurs. Max tells Yunho about the peach pudding Maria makes and vows for the other man to try it before he leaves. Yunho laughs and tells him about _baesuk_ , a Korean recipe for steamed whole pear, stuffed with honey and pine nuts and a type of red berry they wouldn’t have in Italy.

The slow night passes and Max finds himself opening up under the stars, to this man who has come in without feeling pity or the obligation to cheer him up after what had happened in the town square earlier today. He somehow knew that Max wanted company and so he gave it willingly.

When morning comes, Max isn’t aware of when he had fallen asleep, but the tray of leftover food is gone, a warm blanket is draped over him, and the door to the bathroom between their rooms is closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl; it's been almost a year since the last chapter I am so sorry lol
> 
> but yes I am alive. hope you've all been well <3 
> 
> Thank you for still reading. I hope you enjoyed it :)
> 
> tw/tumblr @rilakumabear come say hi!


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